


Observe

by Parragone



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Painting, completely domestic, mentions of the other spetsnaz, no beta we die like (wo)men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23693911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parragone/pseuds/Parragone
Summary: Glaz has a process.This is ENTIRELY self-indulgent domestic fluff.
Relationships: Maxim "Kapkan" Basuda/Timur "Glaz" Glazkov
Kudos: 41





	Observe

The smell of acrylic hung in the room, clinging to the air and soothing his senses. The window was open, but the fresh paint won the battle; it wasn’t harsh so much as lingering. Timur watched his brush strokes with a detached interest, realizing too late that he’d slid toward painting another one of his terrible dreams. He stared at the canvas, the broken figure against the snow leaving a sour taste in his mouth. He hadn’t realized that his urge to paint had been one born of his nightmares.

He lowered the brush, brows furrowing as he tried to figure out what he’d done. He knew the scene; Bartlett, when Team Rainbow was first deployed. Clear of gas, leaving him with the destroyed bookshelves and the broken desks. He knew this nightmare now, where he missed his shot and heard Alexsandr go down for it. The broken figure had his coloring, the dark brown hair, the birthmark on the left of his neck. 

The sniper chewed his lip, trying not to dwell on his nightmares. Instead, he gently lifted the unfinished canvas from the easel and placed it next to the window to dry; one of the few he was likely to never finish. He replaced it with a smaller canvas before setting about cleaning his brushes and his palette, heading to the kitchen to wash them clean. He hung the brushes bristles down and set the board tilted against the wall to dry before removing his apron, hanging it on the rack by the door as he headed back into the living room. 

He picked up a pencil as he passed his desk, absentmindedly walking it between his fingers once he realized it was short enough. Taking a seat on the stool, he leaned forward and began to sketch this time; instead of letting his mind wander, he focused. Shapes took form quickly, even as he had to pull out his phone to find references for deer and dead brush. It was faint on the canvas, but enough that he could see what he wanted. 

The slow open and close of the door caught part of his attention, though the apparent lack of footsteps had him straining to hear; he knew immediately that it was Maxim, as he was the only Spetsnaz operator to be so silent. The hunter’s movements were difficult to track both on and off the field, leading to Alexsandr affectionately calling the man a ghost and for many of the attack-oriented officers to call him terrifying, much to the hunter’s amusement. 

Timur felt the hands on his waist before he could locate the footsteps, felt the kiss to his neck a brief moment later; he turned his head as Maxim pulled away and moved to lay down on the couch without a word. He stared at the hunter as the man settled on the couch, laying back and using the armrest as a pillow. Maxim covered his eyes with his forearm, laying the other across his stomach as he got comfortable.

The sniper watched his partner with an affectionate smile. They never really had to speak, and it was something Maxim had stated before that he liked; the understanding silence when both knew that the other wasn’t in the mood for words. Even on the worst of days, it wasn’t often that either had to make a sound to get their point across.

Quietly, he returned to his sketching, glancing at his partner intermittently as a reference. The uniform pants, the boots halfway laced, the telnyashka that Timur could swear had been ripped by knife fights more than the man’s hands. Short hair that hadn’t been buzzed back into submission in well over a month, the rough stubble that spoke of the days without a razor, old scars that looked near white in the light of the room. The way he laid himself out, still guarded and yet trying to relax enough to sleep.

The sniper went back into the kitchen, collecting his brushes, palette, and apron before returning to his canvas again, beginning his process. He kept looking between the canvas and his partner, ignoring the time that passed as he worked on blending colours and matching shadows. Greens and browns, warm shadows and soft lighting; he had to pause and look up when Maxim finally moved. He glanced to the clock, realizing it was near ten in the evening. Normally, they would be in bed by now and trying to get some decent rest. 

Timur set the brush against the canvas again as he tore his eyes from his partner. He wanted to get the last details before the hunter moved completely, catching the last scars that he knew he wouldn't find once the light changed. He glanced at his partner again, expecting to see an unhappy and uncomfortable operator. He instead found himself making eye contact with Maxim, who had managed to sit himself up and lean on his knees. 

It was something in the older man's expression that made Timur rinse the brush and set it aside. He moved toward the couch, pulling the apron off over his head; tossing it aside, he settled beside Maxim wordlessly. Maxim lifted an arm, twisting to pull Timur into a quiet embrace and lean back onto the couch, dragging the sniper down with him. 

Whatever protest Timur had, it was lost once they were sprawled out on the couch together; he rested his head in the crook of Maxim’s neck, his arms loosely wrapped around his chest. Their legs tangled as they relaxed, sinking into a comfortable quiet. Maxim had laid his arms over Timur’s lower back, a gentle affection from the tired hunter.

Timur listened as they slowly dozed off, the slow breathing and the heavy pulse acting almost like white noise in the otherwise silent room. He could feel the muscles relaxing under him, the tired hunter finally slipping into proper rest; the shuddering yawn that bubbled up out of Maxim was contagious, and Timur suddenly realized how very tired he was. He thought to the canvas for a split second, quickly deciding that he would deal with it in the morning and instead enjoy the comfort that came with the rare display of affection. 

He wasn’t sure when he drifted into sleep, but when he awoke, he found that they'd been given a blanket and the smell of paint had dissolved only to be replaced by the familiar scent of tobacco and gunpowder. He saw Alexsandr on the edge of his vision, putting away the sniper’s painting materials. Shuhrat moved past him, laying a second blanket over the pair before quietly murmuring to someone behind the couch; he could hear Lena respond, something about letting them rest.  
Timur saw Alexsandr turn back to them, and watched the older soldier press a finger to his lips and nod to the side. A moment later, Shuhrat looked down with a mix of surprise and apology on his face, moving aside and reaching for something Timur couldn’t see. The light went out, and a shushing sound came from Lena; there was a soft murmur of goodnight from the two men before he could hear the shuffling of all three other operators going to their rooms.

He stayed awake for a brief period longer, letting himself grasp his surroundings fully. It was only now that the lights were out and the only thing illuminating the room was the moon that he saw what Alexsandr had done; he’d removed the nightmarish image Timur had left by the window and replaced it with the new canvas. Timur could see the design from here; Maxim’s sleeping form in a clearing, with two does and a curious stag in the early morning light. 

He closed his eyes, settling in to sleep. A deep breath of Maxim’s smell, of alcohol and cologne and the faint reek of sweat. He shifted just enough to pull himself closer to his partner, drifting into sleep with no complaint.

**Author's Note:**

> this was entirely self-indulgent and also a challenge to do a story with no dialogue  
> I am sorry but also I am not


End file.
